The Wedding
by goldensnitch18
Summary: Hermione's Wedding. Seq to Nothing But An End. Read it to make more sense of this, it's not too long. One Shot .


The Wedding

A/N : I was asked for a sequel ... and I'm so bored I'm giving you one . Muhahaha . I'm listening to On Your Porch by The Format . One of my all time favorites . If you've never heard it you need to . And of course Wires by Athlete . I think it describes Hermione in these one shots of mine .

She hadn't seen him for six months. The worst six months of her life by her calculations, but she knew that this was the way it was suppose to be. She had been tempted that first week to go to him and admit that she was being a fool, he was right, of course, she loved only him and would only love him for the rest of her days. They would have married and she would have had to start a new life with him, but in the end their love would have prevailed and nothing would have mattered. She choked on her laughter and brought a perfectly manicured hand to her neck as she attempted to cough up the lump of fear that had positioned itself in her throat the moment she had awaken that morning.

She had been tempted that week, but never again, because she knew all too well that she did not love him and only him. She loved Ron, as well. Granted she loved them both in completely different ways with completely different parts of her heart, but she loved them both. If it had been only her love that mattered then maybe the man waiting for her at the end of the aisle would not have red haired combed neatly, but instead soft gold wisps that fell into his eyes. The problem was that she knew it was not only her love that mattered. She knew that if she gave up Ron, she would be giving up her dearest friends and her soon too be family as well. She could never lose them. And, that was why she was standing in front of this mirror, staring into it as if attempting to see past the cream colored gown, the jewels, and the hair so soft it could hardly be hers, into her very soul. She was waiting, as she often did these days, waiting for the ballad that would announce her walk to him, to her fiance, soon to be husband.

She had hoped that her thoughts would be sorted by this day. She had hoped that this day, the day of her wedding, would find her void of all care for the man she had left six months previous when she had accepted the ring waiting for her in Harry's pocket, but it was not to be. She closed her eyes and felt his hands on her neck and then move down her shoulders, rest on her waist as his lips pressed into the skin beneath her ear, whispering into her very heart as it beat so wildly she feared it might burst. She forced herself to look into the mirror to prove he wasn't there behind her.

She knew where he was. She knew exactly where he was at this very moment, because Ginny had come swearing into the room declaring her displeasure at his presence. Ginny had no idea what had occurred between herself and him in the four years before she had excepted Ron's proposal. She had tried to ask inconspicuously who he had brought with him, but feared that her future sister-in-law had heard the tremor carried under her voice. It had been with a bash over the head that she received the news, he was with that horrible cow Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be sporting an addition to her own left hand rather proudly. At this news she had informed Ginny she needed these last few minutes to herself to collect her thoughts and her friend had left with a suspicious glance and a click of the door sealing behind her.

She had added him to the list of invitees at Harry's request with deep reluctance. What if he made a scene? What if she did? What if he couldn't keep his eyes away from her? What if she couldn't? What if he looked a little to sadly at her? What if she cast the same look at him? Could she trust herself to see him after six months on the day of her wedding of all days? Was she ready to really put him behind her?

Her thoughts moved to the cottage they had half lived in together and the visit she had paid to it the week before. Her fingers had trailed over ever surface of the house she could reach, longing to freeze the feeling of them into her brain. She had been expecting the house to be empty, void of any signs of life, but was startled to see obvious signs that he still visited the home. There was a supply of food in the cupboards and a fresh gallon of milk in the fridge. She had expected a coat of dust, but the counters and tables were clean and some even adorned with the wildflowers she had loved to pick to decorate the table for their breakfasts. There was a blanket lazily laying on the couch and an empty wine glass on the end table next to an empty bottle. The bed was made, but a shirt was laid out on the pillow that had been hers.

It was his shirt. She knew this instantly. Even after all these months she knew it was the shirt she had left there on the bed waiting for him to return. She moved to touch it and then brought it to her face, inhaling the scent. She was surprised to find her perfume still lingering with his cologne. She set it back on the bed as tears that had threatened her from the moment her eyes met the sight of the cottage began to fall down her cheeks silently. She entered their bathroom and opened the cupboards here too. Her things still mixed with his, but they had not been touched, whereas his had moved and some replaced. She found her way to the porch, nearly blind from the tears, and sank into the chair she had been sitting in that morning she had told him of her engagement. She wiped her eyes and took in the sights around her, absorbing them all for the last time, and then she had suddenly felt that she must let him know that she had been there. He must know that she still thought about him, after their time apart their passion seemed just as real as it had for four beautiful, tragic years. So, she made her way into the kitchen once more, found a piece of parchment and a quill. There were a few empty ink bottles and one nearly empty one that she used to scrawl a note to him. She put it on the table next to the wildflowers and thought for a fleeting moment about staying until he arrived, but she had too much work to do for the wedding and could hardly trust herself to leave if she saw him again in this home that had born witness to their love so many times.

As she looked at herself now in the mirror in the church she would be married in, she couldn't help but let herself wonder wether she was making the wrong choice. It surprised her that she found her heart telling her she had, but she knew it was too late now. She couldn't walk away from her own wedding. Not to a man so good and loving as the one waiting for her. She turned as the door opened again to reveal Ginny, beaming, and her father, looking a bit sick, but happy. She knew without either of them speaking that it was time and she moved towards them, taking her father's arm as Ginny offered her a bouquet of lilies to rest in her other arm.

The music began, filling the church with such a powerful hum that she hardly believed the old stone wasn't crumbling around them. She listened to the sound as her father began to talk. He talked of his pride, of his joy, and his fear, and she kissed his cheek to reassure him. He spoke one last time to tell her that he loved her and as the music changed, the pair of them began their walk up the aisle. She caught sight of him immediately as he stood with the rest of the guests, watching her with eyes that could see into her soul the way her own could not. He never broke his gaze from her and she found herself watching him even as she listened to the vows she exchanged with Ron. It seemed that he had burned the words, her words, the words she had written into her brain and she could think of nothing but the scratch of her quill against the parchment as she wrote them. Now, she saw them etched into the lines on his face and hidden in his eyes. 'I could never have said enough.' She had told him, and in this moment, this moment of deepest longing for his hand on hers, she knew that she would never as long as she lived write, speak, or think a truer thought.


End file.
